Betwixt
by 29Pieces
Summary: S12 finale tag/fix-it. Spoiler alert! The truly humble are granted what they don't dare ask for. Carry on.


_A/N: The finale seems to have left everyone wanting some resolution! There's so many great episode tags out there... I humbly present my own._

 _Because gosh darn it, Cas deserves it. THIS is what I want for him, and if the writers aren't gonna do it, I'll just do it myself._

 _Thanks Aini NuFire for beta reading for me!_

* * *

The stars swirl around me, cascading through infinity. My awareness seems intact, but I have left my body behind… not Jimmy's, not in a long while, but something to truly call my own, regardless of its origins. Now I suppose it will also turn to dust, as all things eventually do.

I float among the stars, mere elements and molecules joining and fusing with whatever piece of the universe this might be. Or perhaps it is nowhere. I feel life, but not fully; I feel death, but it seems incomplete. I fly betwixt.

There is no body, so there is no physical pain, and that is a mercy, a blessing, an unexpected relief. I had forgotten. It has been so long since I felt no pain that it serves to confuse my senses about what is real. Perhaps there is no reality. Perhaps there never was. Perhaps I was never an angel at all, no Earth to protect, no Winchesters to guard. Here in the unendingness of time and space, there is little to prove that I was ever more than just this stream of thought.

Memories flash. Sam and Dean, laughing and sharing a beer. The first time Lucifer rose and the horror I felt within. Playing and fighting with my brothers, tiny wingbeats echoing off star and stone in the majesty of Heaven's great façade. Past, present, ancient history, melding into one and streaming along with me here in the stars.

I know it was all real.

I know, because even though there is no pain, I hurt. When nothing else has been true, the inner, acrid burn was always there. The anguish was always reality, and I hurt, so I am real. I ache with the truth of it all, the inescapable nature of my constant rise and fall.

Father, I wonder, where have you gone?

I am hurting, I am sad. And I am angry.

Are you out here, among the stars, in this corner of the universe where angels float like golden motes of dust among the remnants of celestial bodies even older than I?

We were yours, Father, before we were anything else. Daddy's toy soldiers, little wind-up dolls. Twist our keys and watch us run, always at someone's bidding. I did as you have bidden me. I cherished your creation. I did what I could. I only hope it was enough.

Enough, in the tracks of tears I had to be too strong to shed.

In the blood I spilled in defense of those I loved.

In the pieces of grace split and stitched a thousand times.

In the ashes on the ground, burned in the shape of what you made me.

In my life; in my death.

In betwixt the stars, streaming thought and memory behind me like the tails of a kite in an autistic man's paradise. How much wisdom he had, awash in the simplicity of his Heaven. I only wanted that peace for all mankind, but it seems that he was the wise man and I the fool.

If this is death, I suppose it is not so very bad, after all. I have no body any longer, but I can almost imagine that I feel my wings again, spread wide and free and full as the starlight shines on feathers of hand-crafted hue. I haven't felt wind through my feathers in far too long, and now I have none; now, my wings are made of comet fire and astral winds.

I hurt. Not my flesh, but whatever my heart is now. It aches, longing to know the fate of my friends. Out here where the endless reaches of knowledge whisper in soft tendrils of light, coiling and curling and cavorting around me, I almost feel I can hear their voices.

"Cas," they say.

"Cas, come back."

"Cas, please."

And were it in my power, Father, I would. I would take the pain. I would take the heartache. I would take the doubt and the fear and the loneliness, in exchange for just a little longer to protect this world and my friends.

But not because you asked it of me. I don't even know where you've gone, in your second escape. Perhaps you are right here beside me. Perhaps you are the stars I fly among. Perhaps you are me, the only thing that remains of the hollow tin soldier I seem destined to be.

It matters not. I would not have my love for the Earth and its creatures twisted and perverted into nothing more than following empty orders. The sacrifice I gave, and would yet give, is not for you, Father, but for them.

Because I love them.

"Cas… _please_ …"

It burns my heart. Why can I still hear their voices? Is this but a memory, for surely this is no place for a human to be? Is that to be my fate, my punishment for immeasurable failures, to listen to the sound of my family's cries? With no hands to grip them, no tongue to speak to them, no eyes to see their faces? No feet to run to their aid, no sword to wield in their defense, no grace to heal and protect?

"Bring him back… please, anything but this, just bring him back!"

I served you faithfully, Father. For too long, I considered myself naught but a failure in your eyes. I was the one always broken, the angel always fallen, the one you must have somehow made wrong. But they saw me differently. And they taught me to see, to love. Here I float, betwixt, but wherever they are, Sam and Dean are hurting. They have done more for you than your angels ever could, ever will, and they do not deserve this.

I wonder, did you know all along? Was this always in the hand you were dealing out? Or are you as surprised as us?

I am sorry, Father. I can protect them no longer. I only hope it was enough.

The stars slide by and I wonder suddenly if perhaps I am still falling, even now. Does eternity have an end, and where did it begin? Am I hurtling through nothingness beyond even the edges of time, or is there a finite border where I might at last have peace? The glittering drops of dust are starting to gather, entwining themselves in the pieces of whatever I have become: grace and form and light and memory. They weave a design I cannot follow, lacking in wisdom as I am.

On either side, they stretch like wings; I would swear I can almost feel them there.

"Dean… Dean! Did you see…?"

"Cas?"

Perhaps in this way, I might watch over them still. The thought makes me smile even through the pain. I can hear them, so clearly amongst the ringing of the universe. Not that I can do much to protect them, formless and ash, but to be with them still is more than I would have dared request.

I don't recall the stars moving like this before. But in this place that isn't life and isn't death, who can say how it ought to be? The swirling, whirling, twirling sparks grow brighter in my vision, coming closer until they join in the shape that mirrors the ashes I left behind.

I hurt. I miss my wings. I miss my family. I miss what was never real. I miss you. I would have given more, but I'm afraid there's nothing left.

The stardust wings draw in, then expand, and I soar. Crystalline drops trace down my cheeks, for I have yearned for this more intensely than I ever dared admit.

"Cas! Sammy, tell me you saw that!"

"Come on, buddy, _come_ on."

Here between, they call so loudly. My fingers curl in with desire to reach out to them, my friends. I don't understand. Moments before, I had no fingers. I had no cheeks. I had no tears to shed. On either side, the wings—mightier than my own ever were—pulse with ethereal light as the grace and stars ignite and flare to life. It is reminiscent of what my true form once was, and I hurt even more.

Light turns to plumage, iridescent bands luminous against the background of space. The stars whisper, and for but a moment, I almost believe yours is the voice I hear.

"Carry on."

We were made to love, yet were given no hearts. We were made to serve, yet were given no humility. We were children, playing at war, little tin soldiers pretending to be wise. We counted ourselves above the humans, angels with divine purpose, but it was only through humanity that divinity was revealed. I see it now, that peace I longed for. And it's not in the promises of a hybrid child.

It's in what I had all along, what I now must bid goodbye.

There's a softness to the wind now, a gentleness in the galactic breeze. It brushes my face, tender and kind. It's not how I remember you, but it feels like only a father's love can.

Hands grip my own, though I do not recall when I first felt that I had hands again. The one on the left is Sam; I know because his touch is always careful, hesitant, as though he is afraid to hold on too hard, as though his size and strength may crush whatever he touches, and so he must be gentle. The one on the right is Dean; I know because his touch is always verging on desperation, as though if he does not cling tightly enough, whatever he holds will slip through his fingers and leave him on his own.

"Cas!"

"We're here, Cas."

"Open your eyes. Come on, man."

"You were right, Castiel."

About what? I seldom get it right. My heart stutters as I realize the voice doesn't belong to a Winchester.

"You never loved them because I told you that you must, you loved them because you're good. I never gave you a heart. I never gave you humility. I never gave you wisdom. You found it on your own, that was always the point. It was all you, Castiel, in the choices you made. I did make you different, but I didn't make you wrong. You're right, you did give everything you have. And you would still give even more, even now. And that's why it has to be you. You're the one I want protecting my children, Castiel."

I know your voice. I crave your voice. And yet the words baffle me, because they contain forgiveness and love that I can't possibly deserve.

"The truly humble are granted what they don't dare ask for, Castiel. Good luck."

There is a touch on my forehead, a breath in my lungs. Father, wait… I was hoping to see you…

I swear the stars chuckle once, and then the darkness of space explodes into light. My wings extend, mighty and vast and rippling with a power I have forgotten, ashes scattering into the wind. The storm, electric blue and crackling with energy, surges through my body and strikes me through the heart, setting off a rhythm that had been silenced and stilled.

I can't help but cry out in surprise at the myriad of sensation; life, death, blood, breath, the hands that have not yet let me go and the feel of the precious earth beneath my back.

I open my eyes, ringing with the same lightning blue, the color of my grace, the color of my essence, the color that represents me, Castiel. My mouth opens; I take in a breath. I am a vessel of divine will. I am my Father's son, the protector of his children. I am an angel of the Lord.

And then the light fades, the storm recedes, and the stars are back in their heavenly skies, whilst I am here. Sam is on my left. Dean is on my right. I am betwixt.

"Cas! Oh, god!"

Arms enfold me, squeezing tightly as to never let go. Something wet falls on my shoulder and I see it is a tear. Not one of mine. It belongs to my brother, the one holding me so fiercely, as though he is the one who will protect me. It's so like Dean.

But he will protect me. They both will. And I will protect them.

"You're alive," Sam whispers, holding tight, but careful, always so careful. He doesn't want to hurt me. He remembers me as breakable, perishable, and he can't bring himself to cause pain. It's so like Sam. My feathers ruffle in the breeze, unseen but felt in my deepest heart. How long it's been.

So long since I've been fully angel, always something hovering on the bridge between celestial and human. Torn between duty to my friends and slavery to my guilt. But I left that somewhere, floating among the stars. I am overcome, humbled and almost frightened by how much my father has just granted me. This is a gift I will not dare waste.

My hands tighten around my brothers'. I smile.

"I'm here."


End file.
